


Social Graces

by Aista



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst and Humor, Culture Shock, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Genetic Disorders & Abnormalities, Minor Canonical Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Skyrim Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aista/pseuds/Aista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Acceptable Altmer parenting focuses on certain hypocrisies, one of those being politeness. (Kink Meme Fill, AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lesson #1

Written for the LJ Elder Scrolls Kink Meme.

**Prompt:** _So the dragonborn has adopted two orphans, and thanks to their generosity have improved their lives immeasurably. The main problem however is cultural. Being a parent in, say the Summerset Isles, has very different expectations than being a parent in Skyrim. Not really looking for anything in the line of abuse or neglect. Just the kids being kind of confused because their new parent is not really acting like other parents they've seen/had._

**Note:** Hope this is okay OP. It's a slow start but I did plan this with five parts in mind. Just have to get round to writing the other four heh …  
 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for the original concepts.

**-I-**

Social Graces

_By: Aista_

**-I-**

  


**Lesson #1 – An Analysis of Formal Forms of Discourse and Politeness: Two neglected aspects of 'Imagining the Self'.**

Falkreath Hold.

Never had she seen so many trees in one place, in fact, she'd never even seen a tree half as tall back home! The ground too felt strange beneath her feet, it was so soft. She knelt to touch her palm to it. The loam clumped easily between her fingers and smelt like rain. This land was rich and entirely unlike Rorikstead's fields (despite their thriving crop). There were stains already spreading through her patched dress. She smiled. She was a farmer's daughter, she could grow anything here.

Sissel looked up and for a moment the road seemed to stretch through the trees like a great river, seemed to stitch them together into a tapestry. The leaves overhead were thick enough to filter the sunlight into soft patterns but left more shadows than not. Treelight. It was eerie and beautiful. Jouane once told her the Bosmer lived in a forest which covered their entire country. Maybe this was what it was like? He said some of them never touched the ground and lived their whole lives up in the canopy. It was hard to imagine. Abruptly, Sissel decided she liked forests.

A strange bird call cooed just out of sight interrupting her silent musing. She blinked and looked over her shoulder. Strange, it had become awfully quiet. Even in the open tundras of the Reach you could usually hear the chattering of field mice and other wildlife. The hair prickled on her arms.

Despite Sissel's somewhat un-Nord fixation with the arcane arts, she had some experience in sneaking. They were simple tricks, hastily learnt and tinged with the anxiety that came from trying to outrun a bully every day for twelve hours. When the soft cooing of the native bird life petered out she immediately froze. Her weight shifted forward to balance on the balls of her feet and she attempted to move into the shadow of a cluster of pines. Of course 'attempted' was the operative word.

A delicately gloved palm fell to rest on her bony shoulder halting all movement. In her somewhat scattered ponderings Sissel had completely forgotten about her new … guardian. Said guardian stared down at her. The mer was cloaked, but Sissel had seen her face as she'd exchanged the bag of septims with her father. It was a face meant for palaces, gowns and handsome princes. At the time her features had strongly reminded her of Britte's doll the one she'd stolen from a Khajiit caravan. Irissare was the first Altmer she'd ever met.

"Do not move child," she drawled, "we are being watched."

She gasped. "W-watched? By who?"

The Altmer didn't answer but drew her around to stand behind her. It was at that moment Sissel realised how petite her guardian actually was, half her bulk was armour! Irissare seemed completely unconcerned however. She stood with her head cocked sideways presumably listening to things out of her range.

Irissare smirked. "Fret not, these imbeciles are known to me."

Unexpectedly she strode out into the middle of the road, hands on her hips—though one remained under her cloak—feet planted boldly. "It is no use, I can hear you breathing. Reveal yourselves," she said.

It seemed to Sissel that from one moment to the next, the road went from a quiet emptiness to one of edged malice. Three, no, five bandits—blades unsheathed—stepped out onto the road. They were a sorry-looking lot: fur-armoured, gap-toothed and caked with about three layers of dirt. Their desperation was palpable and only served to make them all the more terrifying.

"Oh my, what have you done to yourselves?" Irissare sighed. "Fritjof I thought we spoke about this?"

Holy horker! She really did know them …

One of the burlier Nords stepped forward carrying a two-handed sword as if it were light as a feather. He opened his mouth once, twice, and then finally seemed to find his words. "D-d-drop your b-bags and no one has to die."

One of the others, a particularly stringy fellow, leered. "And her armour Fritjof, make her strip to her smalls!"

"Geez is that all you think about Lars?" Another one added.

"Shut up ya bastards!" Fritjof snarled. "I'll handle this."

Sissel thought he looked strangely nervous for someone attempting highway robbery.

Irissare frowned . "Such language Fritjof! There is a child present you know …" Sissel froze as Irissare pulled her forward giving her a one-armed hug. "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from cursing in her presence again."

There must have been something on the Altmer's face she couldn't see because Fritjof paled and some of the bandits began to back away.

"HEY!" she yelled. "I am still SPEAKING; you do not get to leave in the middle of a conversation."

Silence. You could have heard a draugr sneeze.

"There now, you made me raise my voice. That was unnecessary." Irissare rubbed the bridge of her nose; the line of her shoulders was tense. "How about we start from the beginning? My name is Irissare, though we have met before, Fritjof you do _remember_ —?"

Said bandit couldn't seem to nod fast enough.

"—oh good. Unfortunately, I have not had the pleasure of meeting your new little … friends. For their benefit I shall repeat myself."

He flinched.

"As I was saying, I am Irissare, Thane of Falkreath Hold, Thane of Haafingar, Thane of Whiterun Hold—"

Completely unnoticed, Sissel slid away from the group and hid behind a hollow stump. Throughout her guardian's monologue she'd become increasingly uneasy with the rapidly reddening face of the one called 'Lars'.

" _Bugger this_!" he said. "You'll be so much easier to rob when you're dead." He ran forward. "Gonna split your belly like an old woman's purse!"

His sword slashed wildly. Looking totally unfazed Irissare stepped into him (somehow completely missing his haphazard blows). The Nord outweighed her, unfortunately for Lars she compensated with sheer indignant ferocity. Pair that with his overconfidence and her daedric armour and you had a scuffle lasting about three seconds and a bandit eating dirt (well, more dirt).

"That was very rude … Lars," she said. A small boot came to rest on the back of his head. Sissel heard a muffled groan.

"Now where was I? Oh yes, Thane of Whiterun Hold, Thane of the Reach, the Last Dragonborn and more importantly, First Daughter of Guild House Adorin."

She turned to face the gaping group of bandits. "Now as a Thane in this territory it is my solemn duty to ask you to move along. I would rather not have to fill Siddgeir's bounty; he has been entirely insufferable lately."

Sissel wouldn't have guessed such large men could move so fast. The fact they left Lars to his fate meant she lost any vestiges of respect she'd previously held for them. Meanwhile, Irissare nudged the unconscious Lars with her toe. "So rude. Now what to do with you?" she muttered, "Cicero needs some target practice …"

Sissel took a steadying breath. "Target practice?"

"Oh never mind me child, just thinking aloud," she said and hauled Lars over her shoulder. "Shall we get going?" The Altmer then handed her a handkerchief which she used to wipe her hands.

"I was doing them a courtesy you know," she said. "One honours their opponents in Alinor by declaring oneself. It is exceptionally rude to initiate combat without knowing your opponent's guild house and 'rudeness becomes no one', as my lord father used to say." Irissare made a curious motion with her hand and then pressed it to her chest. "Auri-El rest his soul."

Shor's Bones! Sissel could still barely process what had happened. She'd been expecting a horde of bellowing Nords to rob them blind and leave them on the side of the road for the wolves. She was immensely relieved though. Still, be they simple bandits or trained warriors Nords didn't have prolonged conversations with their enemies. They _ran_ into glorious battle, weapons unsheathed screaming 'Victory or Sovngarde!' and while her countrymen weren't without a code of honour, they definitely weren't polite about it! The whole situation was just plain weird, and this was coming from a Nord kid other Nord kids found weird.

Sissel shook her head. Now was not the time to judge someone she barely knew. At least she was away from Rorikstead.

"Come along now, I think you will like Lakeside Manor. There is an absolutely divine waterfront view!"

****

  
-I-

**A/N:** I'm thinking it's time to unearth more on the Altmer. Surely they're not all uber-nationalistic snobs? I want to see how the average high elf lives (of course I wouldn't call Irissare average considering she's dragonborn but she had a fairly average childhood I think). So, culture clash here we come! 


	2. Lesson #2

  
_**Lesson #2 - Ablutions and Home Hygiene: A Proper Guide for the Proper Mer** _   


**-I-**

“Ahhh perfect,” she said, “this is why I built my main estate in Falkreath, though Whiterun has more sunny days collectively, the light off the water here tends to be stronger.”

Sissel nodded, feeling somewhat hesitant. Irissare had woken her at the crack of dawn so she could finish her chores early and meet her down at the lake for some private ‘fem talk’. She had rushed to the lakeside thinking she was to be reprimanded for something only to come to a dead stop. The sight of a fully nude Irissare lying spread eagle on a pile of furs strategically placed on a dry bank of sand would render anyone speechless.

“Oh this is sublime, what glorious sunshine!” the Altmer purred, “I can tell this is going to be a fantastic day …”

Sissel watched in morbid fascination as a visible, well, ‘glitter’ wasn’t entirely appropriate, but it was all she could think of to describe the phenomenon that shimmered around the mer.

“Join me child, there is more than enough sun to go around.” Irissare patted the furs next to her. “Here, let me help. We will not have weather like this again for a while yet.” Her guardian proceeded to unbutton the new overcoat she’d purchased for her. Irissare nodded in satisfaction at her newly bared arms. “Divines you are pale! Hmph, I know Nords do not need nearly as much sun as high elves, but it is not healthy being stuck indoors all day.”

As opposed to the fear of frostbite and amputation via blacksmith because your village is such a backwater that no alchemist or mage-healer in their right mind would ever consider settling? It wasn't fair of her, she knew that, some people would never know that uncertainty or the lack of options that come from living in such a place. Nobody chooses the circumstances of their birth. And though she can practically taste Irissare's privileged upbringing, there's something about her eyes that tells of other demons.

Sissel fidgeted and awkwardly tried to avoid line of sight with the bare flesh currently on display for all and sundry. It was difficult; despite her mortification she was unreasonably curious. Gods. What if Blaise wandered down here? The road was right _there_ anyone could stumble upon them! Wasn’t this public indecency? “How long do you need to … do this?” She could feel a blush suffuse her cheeks as Irissare flopped backwards. The elf didn’t seem to have a normal mer physique, she had a generous … chest which was definitely not the norm. She was kinda short too. She wondered why. Erik would’ve said she was ‘blessed by Dibella’ (of course Erik was also a notorious skirt chaser—despite his new-found obsession with adventuring—and would say anything to woo his lady friends).

Irissare waved her hand indolently. “I suppose I have had enough but it is just so …” she sighed and stretched her arms then promptly dissolved into giggles. _Giggles_. The Altmer almost looked like she’d had one mead too many. Was she sloshed? Going by the look of exquisite rapture on her face she suspected it was more than that. It was such a bizarre contrast with the soft-spoken and dignified mer who’d whisked her away it was almost disturbing.

“Irissare?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why are you all sparkly?”

“I suspect it has something to do with Aldmeri ancestry, superior breeding and all,” she said her lip curled in a grimace. “Beyond that I have no idea. I am no scholar.” She yawned and rolled onto her front.

“So it’s normal?” Sissel said tentatively.

“It is entirely natural … fortifies the blood so I am told. Admittedly, we tend to get a bit tetchy without our sunbathing; it is every bit a part of Altmeri hygiene as a good ice-bath is for a Nord. I am sure the Dunmer have some equivalent,” she drawled, “probably something to do with pumice.”

Sissel frowned. What the hagraven was pumice?

“The Imperials love their saunas of course; I will not even venture to guess what the Bosmer do.”

“But do you have to be completely … exposed? Aren’t you worried about getting in trouble?”

Irissare chortled. “Oh I have had a few guards come by—,” she said and casually speared a mudcrab attempting to circumnavigate their furs. Sissel tried to ignore its hapless death throes but the squealing was piercing. She didn’t have a stitch on her, where had that dagger even come from?

“—but they do not mind, their lips are sealed. Regardless, I would not imitate those Thalmor sycophants for all the spiced wine in Solitude, they have tan lines everywhere and I do mean _everywhere_.”

Sissel leant back warily as Irissare rolled onto her side, an impish grin on her face. “So how are you getting along with darling Blaise?”

_Darling_ Blaise was it? No wonder he was jealous. “He’s … nice. I think he was expecting a brother though.”

“Oh?”

“All he wants to do is play ‘Dungeons and Dragons’ and if I don’t play he pulls my hair,” she said distractedly. Was she imagining things or were her arms turning red? It really was an abnormally hot day …

“Does he now?”

Irissare’s voice had a tone of such smug satisfaction Sissel decided it was time to find Rayya. The past season in her new home had taught her to look to the Alik’r steward when things got a little too much. She had a steady nature and nothing seemed to faze her. The drama which followed Irissare around like a bad smell seemed to unravel or was at least mitigated in part by the Redguard. She was unyielding and Sissel was just as much in awe of her as she was Irissare. Maybe she’d have some sort of Hammerfell remedy for her sunburn?

Sissel made to stand when something flickered in the corner of her eye. Her head whipped around to stare at a clump of bushes immediately to the left just off the road. An unnerving cackling sent her heart racing.

“Ohhh hooo hoooooo! Cicero thinks the little girl spies something … hmmmm what does she see? What does she spy with her little eyyyyeee? Maybeeeee something beginning with ‘C’?”

Irissare moaned and started pulling on her clothes. “Just ONE day that is all I desired! Cease and desist Cicero. You are scaring the poor child half to Sithis.”

A man burst from the bushes—seemingly distraught—though he … capered over to them. “LISTENER! Oh Lisssstttennerr, she is yours. ALL YOURS. Never would Cicero do such a thing!”

The man was a redhead and he wore the oddest outfit she’d ever seen. It had obviously been colourful in its heyday but was now patched and faded a dull maroon. It was stained … Sissel ducked to cower behind Irissare. She did not like this man.

“Why were you lurking back there? Cicero were you _spying_ on me?” Irissare sounded genuinely peeved.

The man made an alarming wailing sound and flailed his arms. “It’s just, it’s JUST, the Listener hasn’t come to visit in soooo loooonnnggg. And Cicero wondered if she’d left FOREVER! So Cicero decided to come finnnnddd the Listener, and CICERO did. And then Cicero SAW the Listener and—”

Irissare sighed. “Oh very well, it is no matter. You might as well come in for lunch. I will have Rayya cook us up some mudcrab stew.”

Sissel looked between them: an obviously deranged man probably in service to Sheogorath and Irissare, Dragonborn. Her shoulders slumped; perhaps she’d go play with Blaise after all because this … whatever ‘this’ was, she wasn’t even going to ask.

**-I-**

**A/N** : Probably one of the most ridiculous aspects of the Meyer vampire mythology was the vampire disco effect in sunlight. But I think the Altmer don't glitter even half so much and only in very bright sunlight (obviously that's once in a blue moon in Skyrim) but also goes someway to explaining why the Thalmor are all so grumpy. Vitamin D deficiency. Hm. I just made my DB into an Edward didn't I? 


End file.
